


The Four Acts

by LJMouse



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, PWP, Shameless Smut, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LJMouse/pseuds/LJMouse
Summary: Because there's really not enough Tailgate/Cyclonus fic.This is complete, shameless pr0n and fluff. Takes place towards the end of More than Meets the Eye issue 55, after the battle. Cyclonus doesn't want to talk, but he can't say no to Tailgate.





	

They'd survived.

He'd survived. And Cyclonus. Both of them, alive, and another battle with impossible odds done.

So many had died, though.

Tailgate sighed, and wrapped his arms around his knees, and stared across the room. His hoverboard floated beneath him, gently bobbing with every shift of his weight.

Megatron was seated with Terminus; Ultra Magnus was deep in conversation with Roller. The other newcomers, and the crew of the Light, were variously resting, recharging, or quietly chatting. People were dented, leaking, wounded, and exhausted. People were broken, and not just from the physical damage.

Cyclonus stood apart from everyone, staring out a window, and obviously brooding.

"You should go talk to him."

Tailgate jerked in surprise, nearly fell off the hoverboard, and then looked up at Ratchet. Ratchet rarely spoke to him unless it had to do with medical things. He hadn't heard Ratchet approach: too lost in thought, too tired.

Ratchet sipped at a cube of energon and said, "Cyclonus, Tailgate. Go talk to him."

"About what?" Tailgate shook his head. "He never wants to talk."

"I said you need to talk to him." Ratchet reached into his subspace and retrieved a flask, which he poured into his energon before saying, "I never said he had to be a willing participant."

"Might be best if I talk to him without an audience. They'll comment. And tease. Cyclonus gets ... angry ... if they tease him. And even angrier if they tease me." The excuses sounded feeble to Tailgate even as he said them. He was actually scared of other things, of rejection and denial, and he knew that Ratchet knew it. 

Ratchet jerked his chin towards a corridor. "There's some empty hab suites down there. And by the way, kid, your specs are compatible."

"You think you could trick him into meeting me in one?" Tailgate said, hopefully, and ignoring the innuendo. He already knew his specs were compatible. People always underestimated minibots. 

"Nah, kid. Just ask him nice. No tricks needed." Ratchet wandered off towards the med bay, sipping his adulterated energon as he went.

* * *

Cyclonus didn't completely turn when Tailgate approached, but he did twist around to meet Tailgate's gaze for a second before returning his attention to the window. Tailgate wasn't sure what was so fascinating out there. Maybe nothing. He'd seen Cyclonus stare for hours at a blank wall.

"What is it?" Cyclonus growled, voice low. Anyone else would have described his voice as unfriendly. Tailgate knew better. That particular tone was was more defensive than hostile.

"I want to talk."

"No." Cyclonus crossed his arms but didn't look back.

 _Ask him nice,_ Ratchet had suggested.

Tailgate exhaled twice to steel his nerves and then asked, quietly and calmly, "Cyclonus, will you come talk to me in private? Please?"

Now Cyclonus did turn, and frown down at him.

"Please," Tailgate repeated. "I want to talk to you without everyone listening. Just us. Please, Cyclonus."

"Don't beg," Cyclonus snapped, but then he sighed too. "Come, then."

* * *

 

The hab suite was empty, dusty, and furnished with only a berth, a chair, and a desk. Cyclonus gave the corners and shadows a thorough search anyway, as if he feared sparkeaters might be lurking under the berth or in the empty dusty closet. Then he said, "Some things are better felt than spoken about, Tailgate. Do you really want to have this talk?"

"Sometimes things need to be said." Tailgate countered, and triggered his hoverboard to float higher. This put him on eye level with Cyclonus. He said, firmly,  and with courage he was surprised to find he had, "You love me."

"I am aware of that," Cyclonus quirked an optic ridge upwards, and when Tailgate matched his look with a glare, he then responded with a scowl. "I have no intention of acting on my feelings."

"Slag. You. You're such a glitch!" Suddenly angry, Tailgate planted both hands in the middle of Cyclonus's chest and shoved. Cyclonus didn't move a micron. The hoverboard, however, shot out from under Tailgate's feet. Tailgate would have fallen to the floor if Cyclonus hadn't reflexively caught him.

Tailgate thrashed. "Put me down! Put me down!"

"One would think this is where you want to be," Cyclonus said, tone just a little sour. "In my arms, like some kind of sappy romantic story."

Cyclonus deposited Tailgate on the berth, then took a step back. "No, Tailgate. We are not talking about this."

"You might not be, but I am." Tailgate, arms folded over his chest, continued, "You can just listen. I might have made a lot of mistakes, but I'm not wrong about this. I slagging love you, and you love me, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don't care if that's twenty minutes or twenty million years."

Cyclonus started to turn.

"Don't leave. Please, Cyclonus. Don't leave. Listen to me."

Cyclonus stopped, and sighed, and crossed his arms. He turned back to face Tailgate, but said nothing.

"I know you think you're not good enough. Slaggit, Cyclonus, you're willing to die for me. Damn near did. You've sacrificed and fought for me. And, and, and you were willing to let me go when I thought I found someone else -- but you know what? I didn't love Runaway, I loved you, but I couldn't have you. I didn't think you were interested! I thought you saw me as annoying and noisy! Runaway was me being stupid and trying to move on with somebody I thought liked me, but I really wanted it to be you!"

Tailgate huffed at Cyclonus, who was still silent. "And ... and ... the four acts. We've already done them, Cyclonus! Maybe not deliberately, but we've disclosed things to each other, and we've given each other gifts, and we've sacrificed for each other! And we hang out all the time together! We could be Endura, and I know you want me, but you just -- you just can't forgive yourself, you can't let yourself have something good. Me!"

Cyclonus sighed. "Are you done yet?"

Tailgate sniffled. "Yeah. I'm done. Probably didn't do any good, but I'm done. You're hurting me, you know that?"

"I ... do not mean to hurt you."

"Then ... please. Please."

Tailgate couldn't quite articulate what he was pleading for, because his vocalizer felt too tight and his spark seemed to be contracting into a tight ball in his chest, but maybe Cyclonus was right. Maybe some things didn't need words.

"Please," he said again, and then looked away, and sniffled.

A clawed hand stroked the side of his helm. "Tailgate, look at me."

He looked back, to find that Cyclonus had dropped to one knee. "We've ... done three of the four acts, Tailgate, by my count."

"What are we missing?"

The hand on the side of his face was gentle, and warm. "I've never been able to say no to you, but I also do not wish to frighten you. Perhaps that is a foolish fear. You're never frightened, even when you should be."

"I'm scared of losing you," Tailgate leaned his head into that hand. It felt so good, so right. He had wanted Cyclonus to touch him with care and affection for a very long time, and had thought it was a foolish desire. Cyclonus didn't do affection. "That's what I'm scared of. The only thing I'm scared of."

"Intimacy." Cylonus dropped his hand away.

"But we've hung out together. We had the same habsuite on the Light. Getaway said you were supposed to be in close proximity to another mech for a period of time, and we've done that and Cyclonus, I'm totally yanking your chain here because I do know the difference between 'facing and intimacy. I'm not _that_ naive. I interfaced with Getaway. It wasn't much fun. Figure it'll be a lot better with you."  

"Hnnh."

Tailgate couldn't look at Cyclonus, now. "Is it that you're not attracted to me? I'm short and chunky and funny looking. I'm an antique and I've never been upgraded. What do I have to offer you? I guess ... I guess I was being stupid. But I want you for who you are, Cyclonus. If you're just not attracted to me tell me."

"You cannot be attracted to me. We are far too different," Cyclonus replied, with a shake of his head.

"Cyclonus," Tailgate said, with a roll of his optics. "I think you're hot. Like, really hot. That's not why I love you, I love you for who you are, but you're plenty hot."

Cyclonus was staring at Tailgate like he hadn't seen him before, jaw set into a hard clench.

Tailgate stood up on the berth, and said, "So that's settled. We're attracted to each other."

Cyclonus crouched again, and this time, since Tailgate was now standing, it meant he was looking up at the smaller mech. He growled, "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope." Tailgate, greatly daring, reached out and traced a finger along Cyclonus's horn -- the replacement he'd made -- and then cupped Cyclonus's jaw with his small hand. "I love you. Please 'face me."

Cyclonus smiled. It was a small smile, but a genuine one, and it transformed his face for just a second with an expression that made all the tension and anxiety bleed out of Tailgate's frame. Cyclonus reached up and wrapped his arms around Tailgate's frame, and then rose with him in his arms. "I've never seen you without your mask," Cyclonus requested, "Remove it."

Tailgate triggered the mask to retract. Underneath, his features were startlingly innocent, unmarred by the war, and Tailgate feared that Cyclonus would set him back down. Getaway had said his features were too expressive, and had teased him about it. 

However, when Cyclonus simply smiled at him again with that tiny almost-not-there smile, Tailgate reached up, wrapped his arms around Cyclonus's neck, and kissed him. At first, the kiss was chaste, but Tailgate was determined. He transferred his hands to Cyclonus's shoulders, then to the sensitive cables at the back of his neck. Only when he stroked Cyclonus's horns, however, did the other mech finally growl, pull back, and exvent a gust of heated air

Cyclonus turned around, and sat down on the berth, and lowered Tailgate to sit in his lap, chest to chest. Experienced fingers traced Tailgate's seams, and found sensitive nerve wires and tingling sensor clusters. Cyclonus gazed down at him, again with that unexpected little smile on his face. It was an intimate gaze, and one Tailgate had never expected to receive from the old warrior. It seemed to say that Cyclonus was pleased with what he saw, and truly happy. Relief filled Cyclonus's field, too, as well as a growing heat of desire; Tailgate wasn't surprised to sense either. Cyclonus, he'd recently figured out, had a habit of pushing others away before they rejected him.

He grinned back, and then gasped when Cyclonus's long fingers reached his aft. His hands were big enough to cup entirely around Tailgate's thighs and stroke his panel with the tips of dexterous claws. Purely by reflex, his panel snicked opened, without any conscious thought from the minibot.

"I want you. Please." Tailgate breathed, even as there was a louder click from Cyclonus. Cyclonus's spike rose between them, and Cyclonus's arms tightened around him when Tailgate reached down and gripped it firmly. He'd serviced himself often enough to know what felt good. (Getaway had insisted on being sucked; Tailgate hadn't minded, exactly, but he wanted to _see_ Cyclonus's reactions.)

Cyclonus threw his head back with a low groan in reaction to Tailgate's touch.

"I'm not sure I will fit," Cyclonus said, voice thick and words ending with a gasp. They did have considerable size difference.

"You will." Tailgate rose up onto his short legs, still straddling Cyclonus's thighs, and kissed him. Their optics met, then Cyclonus nodded once, trusting Tailgate's judgement on this.

Cyclonus leaned back, bracing his hands against the berth, then. He watched, still with that tiny and intimate smile on his face, as Tailgate slowly lowered himself. Cyclonus's spike nudged at his opening, and Tailgate reached down to grip it and direct it in.

It was a tight fit, and there was a flash of pain and then a feeling of incredible fullness. It felt so good; hot and hard and tight. Cyclonus watched him, gaze wandering from his expression and then down to where his spike was slowly squeezing into Tailgate's valve, and then back up. He held impossibly still, and Tailgate was grateful for that. Getaway had thrust into him right away, and it had hurt. 

Cyclonus reached up with one hand and brushed his fingers along Tailgate's cheek. "Love," he said, simply, as Tailgate settled all the way down to the base of his spike, having taken it all in at last. "I love ..." and then his words were lost to an inarticulate gasp of pleasure.

Tailgate grinned, and rocked, even as Cyclonus's hips rolled, and then the bigger mech sat back up and held him close. Together, they surged to completion, to a hot spill of fluid and an explosion of pleasure, then they collapsed onto the berth in each other's arms.

"Love," Cyclonus said, after several minutes of just holding the smaller mech close.

"Shh. You don't need to talk. I know what you mean."

"Some things need to be said," Cyclonus kissed Tailgate's helm, and tightened his grip. "If you truly wish to be Conjunx Endura, Tailgate, I can only say yes to you. We will be Conjunx, for as long as forever lasts. I swear on the last flicker of my spark and the last drop of my innermost energon that I love you more than life itself."

Tailgate grinned hugely, mask still retracted. "I love you too, Cyclonus. Love you too."

 


End file.
